Tumble Under The Moon
by DareU2Bme
Summary: Various One-Shots and Drabbles from my tumblr blog.
1. Chapter 1

**Rating:** PG-13

**Characters:** Stiles, Derek, Scott

**Summary:** Medieval AU where Derek is locked in a dungeon after been found out as a werewolf.

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**Freedom  
**

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Derek tensed when the two sets of footsteps registered as being the wrong beat from his usual guards. The heavy door at the base of the dungeon staircase creaked open and then thudded dully shut. There were hushed voices and then a torch was lit. Derek covered his face with his arm, his eyes not used to adjusting to light after a month locked in darkness. The first set of bar doors opened and he peeked up from the bend of his elbow in surprise. it was long past supper time and there was no other reason for the guards to enter his cage.

"If we're found out as a result of your dallying, I will be fiercely angry," warned a strangely familiar voice in a hiss.

"Spare me your complaints," came the hushed defense of another whose voice was also familiar, "each lock has a different key!"

Derek heard the telling jangle of said keys before the second set of bar doors creaked open. Jumping to his feet, Derek flashed his eyes red in the dark, muscles bunching as he readied himself for the third set of bar doors to open. He couldn't see them yet, wood and metal still barring him in, but the light grew stronger through the bars in the door.

He heard the soft thud of something hitting the floor and the second voice cursing. They had probably dropped the keys. Obviously, they were incompetent idiots, whoever they were. Derek could possibly outsmart and overpower them to make his escape once they opened the third set of metal bars.

He lowered his stance, ready to jump them as the lock turned and the door pushed open to reveal….

"Scott?" asked Derek in surprise all the fight going out of him.

"Sweet Mother Mary, Derek," exclaimed Stiles, stepping in behind Scott. "You look like shit and… is that smell coming from _you_?"

Derek gave Stiles a deadpan look that the kid probably couldn't see by the flickering light of the torch anyway. Of course the smell was coming from him, he had been locked in the same damn cage of a cell for over a month with his own shit and piss.

"What are you doing here?" he asked gravely.

"Freeing you" said Scott.

"Obviously," added Stiles, probably rolling his eyes as he was known to do.

Derek hadn't seen either of the two lads in half a year, having been on the run and then captured for so long, but hearing their voices, now, made him feel like he had seen them just the day before. His heart twisted painfully sweet in his chest at the thought. He wasn't ready to admit it, but he had missed them.

"You two think you'll be able to free me?" he asked in a monotone voice that he knew was dripping with disdain.

"Ye of little faith," teased Stiles and Derek actually caught the movement of his face in the shadows when the lad winked at him.

Scott reached for Derek's wrists and unlocked his shackles while Stiles pulled a large cloak out of the sack at his side.

"Oh look, we just did," Stiles said sounding smug.

Derek pulled the cloak around himself, his body shuddering in relief of the cloak's heavy, scratchy, warm wool. Spending a month naked in a cold dungeon tower probably would have killed him were he human, instead it made him feel weak and ill. He stood rubbing at his wrists while the two boys argued in hushed whispers about their next move.

"And how do you plan on getting out undetected?" Derek finally asked.

"Same way we got in," said Stiles, shrugging carelessly, but his voice gave away how nervous he was.

"If they catch us, they'll hang you two," warned Derek, though it was a little late.

"Yeah, so let's get out of here," snapped Stiles.

"Give me the bones," said Scott, dropping the ring of keys to the floor and reaching for the sack at Stiles' side. "How do you fair, Derek?" he then asked Derek.

It seemed like a misplaced and somewhat womanly concern, but as Derek watched him scatter bones across the floor, he wondered if he actually had a reason for asking.

"I'm alive," said Derek, "not at my full strength, but still better than Stiles, for certain."

"Hey," hissed Stiles and Derek couldn't help but grin smugly at him, despite his confusion.

Derek wanted to ask what their hair-brained scheme was, but he figured he would find out soon enough, plus he was a little worried to know what it was. The bones were mostly clean, and Derek wouldn't have been certain what they were from if it weren't for the faint scent of dog still on them. A dog's bones, what did the two boys have in mind?

Once the sack was empty of the bones, Scott led Derek by the elbow like he was an elderly woman. Derek wanted to pull his arm from Scott's grip, but he knew the lad was a tactile person and wondered if perhaps Scott just needed to touch his alpha after half a year of being separated.

When they reached the heavy, wooden door leading to the staircase, Stiles hung back long enough to lower the torch into the straw in a few choice places, setting the place on fire.

Derek paused a few steps up from Stiles to watch the dry straw go up in flame. They three watched a few moments longer, all transfixed by the flames already licking up the walls, before turning as one and racing up the spiraling stone stairs.

They were coughing from the smoke and having run up so many stairs by the time they emerged from the dungeon tower into the fresh night air. Derek hadn't had more than a ten by ten foot prison cell to live in for a month and was deeply winded by the activity, but it obviously wasn't time to rest, yet. Stiles grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward the forest line behind Scott.

Once the lights of the castle were mostly blocked by branches and underbrush of the thick forest, Scott and Stiles finally stopped to catch their breath. Derek leaned over, bracing his hands on his knees and just breathing.

He straightened once Once he felt less light headed and took in his surroundings. The air was cool but heavy with the sweet scents of harvest. There was a breeze that rustled the leaves of the trees before sliding over his skin in a silken caress. It was amazing after so long in the still, stale air of the dungeon.

Derek let the hood of the cloak down and stretched out his arms, giving more of his akin access to the sea if air flowing over him. It moved through his hair and over his skin. It filled his nostrils and cleared out his lungs.

Finally, he could feel his wolf rumbling beneath the surface if his human psyche. The only times he had felt it in the last month was when it came to the surface through his rage and fear, but now, there it was again, part of him and at peace inside his body.

"Derek," whispered Stiles, quietly asking for… Something

Derek looked over at him. His eyes adjusted to the dark and he could make out their faces much better without the deep and moving shadows made by the torch. They both looked do much older than he remembered —Stiles moreso than Scott. The lines in his face spoke of stress and worry, of too many life and death situations. Derek wished in that mine t that he could free Stiles of it just like Stiles and Scott had just freed him.

Derek let out a sigh, if he could go back, he would stay away from Scott and spare the two young men the misery of bring associated with him. Scott, who was loyal and moral to a fault, and Stiles, who loved more fiercely than even a wolf, and who feared he'd always be just the stupid sidekick all his life even while his conniving intellect and quick thinking actually set him as the leader more often than not; they didn't need Derek's troubles. Derek would free them now, late as it was.

"Thank you," he said solemnly, though he meant it with every fibre if his being.

He patted Scott's shoulder, giving it a squeeze before turning to Stiles to do the same. Stiles, however, instantly screwed up his face in a terrible expression before shaking his head.

"Don't you dare pat me on the shoulder," growled Stiles, "I am more important to you than that, and we both know it!"

With that, Stiles lunged for Derek, wrapping long arms around Derek's torso and dragging him in. Derek huffed out an amused laugh, hugging Stiles back and pressing his nose to his hair.

When Stiles released him, Derek took the borrowed cloak off, letting it fall to the ground. He could feel Stiles and Scott's eyes on him, but wasn't embarrassed to have them see him naked. He didn't feel as vulnerable in the nude as the average human.

"Fair well," said Derek, simply before falling forward into his wolf firm. He gave them one last look, hazel eyes from a dark faced wolf, then turned to run off into the woods.

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Find me on tumblr as _**idareu2bme **_and on AO3 with the same username_**  
**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Rating:** T

**Characters:** Stiles & Derek

**Prompt:** Stiles has a thing for 'doing it' in the forest and for marking.

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Stiles ran, feet pounding the uneven forest floor in dull thuds. His breathing filled his ears, the rhythm of it nearly a mantra all on its own. It was after dusk, and though the setting sun might still be bathing the land with gold outside of the forest, inside was an entirely different story. The shadows are deep and dark, the lightning nearly night-blue, and at the speed Stiles was running, it was a miracle he could focus his human eyes well enough in the low light to dodge the many pitfalls of the ancient forest floor.

But, it wasn't like this was new for Stiles. He was accustomed to this by now, though the familiarity of it didn't do anything to quell the surge of adrenaline that rushed through his veins every time.

The wolf was gaining on him. Even with the fifteen minute head start, it never took long for the black and dark grey alpha wolf to find and run him down. Stiles' chest felt like it would burst from the pressure if his heaving lungs, but he didn't slow to try to catch his breath. He would always fight this to the bitter end, no matter how many times it happened.

… Because it was always _so_ much hotter that way.

Fucking dammit but Stiles loved their new game. It was kind if a fluke that it ever came about, but holy hell was it a good fluke! It was practically custom tailored (actually, yeah, it was) to his and Derek's relationship, a form of sexplay that allowed them both to connect on deeper levels, to communicate emotions much too base for words… Not to mention, again, how _fucking hot _it was.

The nearly-black wolf snarled at him as it quickly erased the space between them. Stiles grit his teeth after taking the deepest breath his aching lungs would allow and pushed himself forward. He could feel the stretch of his limbs and burn in his calves as he sped up for one final burst of speed. It gave him maybe two seconds more… And then the alpha was on him.

Stiles let out the most ridiculous, embarrassing "oof" ever and then he was flat on his back, two large black paws pushing him down. Stiles struggled a little, but mostly he knew his fight was already forfeit. When the wolf teeth gently but threateningly bit down around his throat, Stiles went lax in surrender.

It was against his instincts to lie still and allow the monstrously large wolf to hold its mouth over his throat, hot moist breath on the sensitive skin there, but Stiles forced himself to lie still. He was practically hyperventilating in his attempts to catch his breath and the wolf teeth at his throat and weight on his chest were not helping things. The wolf's growls mixed with his gasps for extra air blended together and filled his ears. He grasped at the fur on the wolf's legs and was about to red light when the wolf transformed back into Derek.

Stiles went lax again; happy to continue to play now that he was given the room needed to better catch his breath. Derek's eyes were shining bright red and his canines were still long and sharp leaving him looking more vampire than werewolf —but there was no mistaking the alpha dominance in his movements. He wasn't a creeping creature of the night slinking through alleys looking for a meal like a coyote or serpent; he was an alpha, a king in his own right. Every movement was confident. He _fucking owned_ this forest and the town it encroached, just like he was about to own Stiles in every way. Stiles couldn't wait.

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Find me on tumblr as _**idareu2bme **_and on AO3 with the same username_**  
**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Rating:** T

**Characters:** Stiles & Peter

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Stiles wanted to hate himself for the fluttering interest starting to rise in his groin, but he was a little preoccupied trying to remember to breathe.

"All I would have to do was bite down… Right…. Here," spoke Peter in a low, sultry voice that shouldn't have made Stiles want so much —not with Peter's eyes flashing red, his canines long and pointed, and his breath ghosting over the thin skin of Stiles' wrist.

"Dude," Stiles finally managed to croak out as indignantly as he could muster considering the warring feelings of terror and arousal at Peter's presence. "You are starting to sound like a broken record. You've already asked and I already said no."

Peter leaned in, letting his lips drag briefly up the inside if Stiles forearm. His eyes were closed and he had a blissed out look on his face. Stiles wondered what he smelled or tasted like to give Peter that look. There was a part of him who wanted Peter to climb under the blankets with him, who wanted to see what the older mans strange obsession with him would lead to.

"I thought I'd give you another chance," he murmured against the inside of Stiles' wrist sending goosebumps rising across Stiles entire arm. "I'm the alpha again and this time—"

"No means no, you fucking creep," growled Stiles, trying to pull his arm from Peter's grasp.

"I would have been so good to you," said Peter with sad resignation, brushing his lips against Stiles' arm one more time before letting him go.

"Just get the fuck out of my room," commanded Stiles hoarsely.

"If you change your mind—"

"I won't!" snapped Stiles.

He watched angrily as Peter nodded to himself and turned to leave. Stiles tried his hardest to keep his breathing steady, not wanting to give Peter anymore indication of how he had affected Stiles than his wolfy senses didn't already tell.

Once Peter was gone through his window, Stiles let out a long breath and pulled the blankets up to his shoulders. He could tell by the tent iun the blankets and warmth in his belly that he was a little more than half hard. Fuck, why did he have to go to bed naked that night?!

Stiles shuddered in a mix of arousal and trepidation at the thought of only his thin blanket having been between him and Peter. He squirmed with want at the thought of that warm breath ghosting over other places where his skin was just as thin, but much more sensitive.

He waited exactly eight minutes and twenty two seconds after Peter had gone before he wrapped a hand around his dick to tug it to full attention. He hoped Peter had left completely and not stuck around to creep on Stiles.

He closed his eyes tight as he moved his fist up and down his dick, biting his lip when a groan started building in his throat. He knew he couldn't trust Peter, the man was broken and power hungry, always scheming and manipulating, but that didn't mean he didn't want him. Fuck, Stiles was such a fucking mess. When he slept, his dreams would alternate between horrible nightmares and delicious sex dreams, with both kinds heavily featuring Peter Hale and his smarmy smile and piercing eyes.

Stiles let out a long, low groan when he came, throwing his head back against his pillow and enjoying the release. He felt lax and gloriously spent, the tightness of his body from the encounter with Peter completely gone.

"I could have done that for you," came Peter's voice, startling Stiles.

His eyes flew open and he quickly sat up, body tense once again. Peter was leaning against the window he had disappeared out of not fifteen minutes earlier.

"Fuck!" Stiles spat out in embarrassed anger.

"You keep saying no to me, Stiles, and maybe I would believe it if the rest of you wasn't screaming the exact opposite every time I'm near," said Peter.

"I don't want to be a werewolf and I sure as hell don't wanna be in your pack," growled Stiles. "Now, get out and stay the fuck away from me."

"Alright, alright,i just wanted to be sure, " said Peter, "teenagers… such confusing creatures."

"I think Ive been pretty clear," spat Stiles.

"You smell a little messy," said Peter, canines lengthening again, "could I at least help you with clean up before I go?"

Stiles' couldn't help the low groan as he watched Peter hungrily luck his lips and the meaning of his request sunk in. Fuuuuck yeeess, he wanted that, but no, if gave Peter an inch, he would take a mile.

"Just go," ground out Stiles.

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Find me on tumblr as _**idareu2bme **_and on AO3 with the same username_**  
**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Rating:** T

**Characters:** Stiles & Derek (soon)

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It was cold and dark. Derek hadn't started shivering yet, but he was damn close. His body ached as it used the last of his energy to stitch itself back together.

He let out a shaky sigh before sitting heavily back against the trunk of a lonely oak tree. Thunder bellowed in the distance, the rain growing heavier and louder. All he could hear, though, was her dying screams still echoing in his head, weighing on his heart. He had killed her. He had sliced right through her throat with claws and fury.

He was a monster.

He looked down at his blood-covered hands where they lay in his lap. His shoulders slumped. He didn't actually like to kill, no matter the stories associated with his kind. Over and over, he replayed the scene in his head trying to figure out what he could have done different.

He watched as the rain made enthusiastic attempt to wash the red from his skin, claws and clothes. The dull thud of footsteps got his attention, but he didn't look up, too tired and forlorn to care.

"D-Derek?"

"Stiles," responded Derek in a low voice, raising his chin enough to glance up at the boy. "What are you still doing here?"

"Dad's off tonight, I can't go home like this," explained Stiles while gesturing at himself.

Normally, his movements were always so animated and sharp. It was obvious just how tired he was, now, with his gesturing only being the bare minimum. Derek quickly looked Stile over for any obvious wounds, but Stiles seemed alright save for how shaken up he was. Derek could see it in his face, would know it even if he couldn't hear Stiles' hammering heart. His clothes were torn and soaked and his lip was split, but he would live.

"Well, go find somewhere else to crash," said Derek. It came out sounding sharp like how he used to snap at Stiles, so he smoothed it over with a slightly softer, "you look exhausted."

Stiles didn't reply, just took a step closer to Derek. It made Derek tense.

"I could hurt you," he warned, memories of that night flashing behind his eyes, yet again.

"But you won't," said Stiles.

Derek growled, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. The woman's scream echoed in his head all over again. The way it turned to gurgling as blood filled her throat had his stomach churning. He bit back a gag.

"I'm a monster," he said before looking away.

"We're _all_ monsters," said Stiles with a shrug.

"C'mon, Derek," he said, almost whispered, "I'm a feeble little human who was just in a supernatural showdown, I need my alpha."

Derek shivered at the words on stiles' tongue; _his alpha_.

"I trust you," said Stiles in a whisper before reaching down to touch the side of Derek's face. Maybe Derek should have taken affront at the difference in their positions, him lower and Stiles over him, but he couldn't care right then. Besides, his pack was nowhere nearby to see.

"You shouldn't," whispered Derek, throat dry. All he ever did was fail those he cared about.

Stiles cupped Derek's face and, for a few crazy seconds, Derek thought Stiles was going to lean down to kiss him. Instead, Stiles sat down in the sparsely grassed mud at Derek's feet. Lower than his alpha. Derek's heart was in his throat.

Stiles crawled into Derek's lap, folding himself up small enough to fit there. He twisted in Derek's lap to press his face into Derek's neck and inhale deeply. Derek could feel goosebumps on his arms as he allowed it. He shouldn't be allowing it. He's the alpha.

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, pulling him impossibly closer. They sat with Derek's back against the tree and Stiles between his legs, facing him and leaning in against his chest. Stiles' shivering lessened.

Derek caught himself a few times mindlessly watching rain drops drip down the curve of Stiles' nose. They really should have left right away, shouldn't be sitting around the scene of the crime. Instead, Derek rocked them back and forth ever so slightly and listened as Stiles' heart began to slow.

Stiles felt good in his arms, even if he was tall and awkward with long limbs that didn't fold up so easily. He could feel Stiles' trust, understood his relief at having _someone_. Derek wanted to keep Stiles forever, wanted to have someone.

The rain continued to pour, the thunder banged and drummed as it rolled away with the wind. Derek's body ached and stung as it healed. He could feel tendons stretching back into place, could feel his skin growing to cover his open wounds, felt his muscles replacing themselves and knitting into one another. It took so much energy to do. He was starving.

He leaned his forehead against Stiles' collarbone. Sirens were screaming in the distance, but they were still far away.

Stiles was healing him with his touch, with his trust. Derek could feel his heart untwisting as Stiles squirmed in closer against his chest. Derek let out a soft sigh and pressed his nose to stiles neck, closing his eyes and trying to push the woman's last breaths from his mind. She had been innocent, had been twisted by an evil that was still out there somewhere, and it weighed on Derek's conscience that they couldn't save her, only put her down.

"You really trust me?" he asked.

"Of course."

The sirens were closer. Derek pressed his lips against Stiles' neck for a soft kiss that he hoped Stiles wouldn't notice. He gave him a parting squeeze before standing.

"We have to go," he said, "the police are nearly here."

Stiles nodded, but remained a rag doll in Derek's arms for a few more beats before finally putting weight back on his feet –not that he was heavy.

"So tired," he slurred and Derek empathized entirely.

"Let's go."

They were running for the trees by the time the sirens came into Stiles' hearing range. They'd regroup at Derek's house; the pack knew to go there when they were separated.


End file.
